I Still Feel Her
by Awarea
Summary: In retrospect, Auggie should have seen it coming the moment he laid those green lasers from his cane on her. He hadn't seen anything for a long time, but that was no excuse for his obliviousness, and he knew it.
1. I Still Feel Her

**I Still Feel Her**

**

* * *

**

**A/N: I don't own Covert Affairs.**

My cable's down, my MP3 player is on shuffle, so I'm using song titles as writing prompts. :)

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

In retrospect, he should have seen it coming much earlier. Then again, he was blind. He couldn't see anything. But that was no excuse for his obliviousness, and he knew it.

He should have seen it coming the first day she was at the CIA, starting from the moment she said she listened to Mingus.

He should have seen it coming when they became friends, and she brought him a stuffed St. Bernard toy to confirm it.

He should have seen it coming when he was teaching her hand to hand combat, during those moments when his hand wanted to linger on her arm just a little longer, despite his brain telling him to let go.

He should have seen it coming when she defended Jai, leaving him with a sudden surge of anger.

He should have seen it coming that night when he rushed to comfort her after her breakup with Jai, leaving Bea alone in bed.

He, despite not having his eyesight, should have definitely seen it coming earlier. He should have accepted the fact, rather than rebelled against it the way he rebelled against his family. Moreover, he should have told her so. Because, if he did, she might have let go of Ben Mercer. And then, maybe, just maybe, she would have listened to him and declined the job. She might not have went and got shot during the chaos that ensued after Ben Mercer was spotted.

Then, maybe he wouldn't have spent that bleak night sitting in the waiting room at the hospital, tapping his foot and fiddling with the worn out stuffed dog, while the events from earlier that day played themselves over and over in his mind.

_"I can take care of myself!" she hissed at him._

_He slammed his cane onto his desk in frustration, "Fine. FINE! Do what you want. I don't care."_

And maybe he wouldn't be in front of her grave, involuntary tears leaking from his sightless eyes.

He can't stop thinking about how his last three words should have been "I love you" instead of "I don't care."

Because he did care about Annie.

Because he could still hear her laugh and smell the traces of Jo Malone Grapefruit that always surround her.

Because he missed her so much he could almost see her.

Because he wonders what her lips would have tasted like.

Because he could still feel her, knocking him over, shoving him, and pinning him during their training sessions. He could still feel her hugs.

But most of all, because he could still feel her warmth.


	2. Nothing Gold Can Stay

**Nothing Gold Can Stay**

* * *

**A/N: I wish I owned Covert Affairs. I wish I wrote poem. But... I don't.**

**Oh, and this is now a(n apparently angst filled) series of oneshots.**

* * *

_Nature's first green is gold,_  
_Her hardest hue to hold._

August Anderson doesn't have much memories of seeing left. But what memories he still retained seemed to be coated in a golden light; it was his mind's way of beautifying things he had lost. Beautiful people, in beautiful places, bathed in a beautiful light, providing only further contrast between the colourful world he once lived in, and the dark void that enveloped him now.

But he knew that erroneous as his memories are, those visions, his only way of seeing, are slowly slipping away.

He couldn't quite remember what all the colours looked like anymore. Except black, the one colour that carved itself forever into his mind. He knows what black looks like all too well.

_Her early leaf's a flower;_  
_But only so an hour._

How easy the choice to join the military was.

His family had the tradition of serving the country, and he was no exception. So the young, naive, eighteen-year-old August enlisted himself. He never quite expected himself to be an exceptional soldier. He never expected himself to be a Special Forces member.

War was nothing like the romanticized books said. It was not glorious, and despite what everyone said about soldiers being heroes, it did not make him feel like a hero. It made him feel like a murderer. It destroyed everything that was once precious to him; it destroyed his idealized view of the world. It blurred the boundaries between right and wrong. It numbed him to the value of life.

And it stole his sight.

_Then leaf subsides to leaf._  
_So Eden sank to grief,_

So when the psychiatrists decided that he was perfectly stable and wouldn't kill himself the first chance he got, he was shipped to Langley. Truth be told, despite what the psychiatrists said, if only he could find a window, he would have jumped out just to rid himself of the infuriating lead curtains that had shut in front of his eyes. As part of his training, August Anderson had learned to lie very well, even to the leading psychiatrists in the world. But God be damned, August Anderson, despite being ex-Special Forces, was a coward. He couldn't kill himself.

He had taken courses in psychology in high school and college. What was that coping mechanism called again? Overcompensation. Theory had it that Napoleon conquered Europe because he was vertically challenged. But August Anderson conquered women to prove to himself and to everyone else that just because he was blind, he was no less of a man. He hit the books and hit the gym, did anything, _everything,_ he could to make himself feel better, to distract himself from the darkness he couldn't escape, to show that his disability had not emasculated him.

_So dawn goes down to day._

But all darkness ends, and for August Anderson, it ended when she came into his life.

Annie Walker.

He found himself looking forward to her presence daily. Because, much like daylight, she illuminated his world that had been shrouded by shadows. Those curtains that had closed themselves weren't as impenetrable as they once were. She cut through that fog that had surrounded him for so long. She painted his black walls with splashes of colour. With splashes of _gold._

And so he desperately clung onto his ray of sunshine. Because he knew all too well that in this line of work, one tiny mistake, one small mishap, or one minuscule, overlooked detail could lead to death. And damn it, he wasn't going to let her die any time soon, even if he knew perfectly well that...

_Nothing gold can stay._

* * *

**I cannot tell you how long I've been trying to incorporate this poem into a story. I've written 3 original stories that used the poem as inspiration, and hell, none of them are close to presentable. Then I realized that it was summer and I could watch TV again. So, BAM. Back to a nice Covert Affairs addiction, and I realized how well this poem suits Auggie. (Actually, all things in my crazed-fan mind would fit Auggie.)**

**Review, please? It would make this depraved fan's day.**


End file.
